


Antiheroes

by ABANDONED__ACCOUNT



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: F/M, Fake AH Crew, GTA, Science Fiction, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1767529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABANDONED__ACCOUNT/pseuds/ABANDONED__ACCOUNT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are friends who pull you from the cliff's edge, and friends who jump with you.</p>
<p>Geoff Ramsey, renowned crook and gang leader, pulls together a group of thieves and killers to wreak havoc across the city of Los Santos. And with their newfound abilities, the crew has more freedom than ever before to bring chaos and destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

The sound of passing cars carried by the evening wind. The distinct scent of exhaust fumes and cigarettes, mingling with the crisp night air. An otherwise starry sky obscured by the blanket of smog that settled itself around the city. Swarms of cars tangled on the highways in the distance, a lone, wailing siren, a continued buzz of activity down below. A chill breeze ruffling the dying grass on the hillside. Up ahead, a brick and mortar warehouse, doors with rusted hinges and windows coated with dirt and dust and ash. Lined in front, several cars, one old-fashioned Roosevelt, a single motorcycle. It seemed as though he was the last to show up. He raised a hand to his face to scratch his chin and stepped inside the building.

The scaffolding looked about close to collapsing under the strain of supporting the metal roof, and piles of dust had gathered in the corners of the room and between the haphazard stacks of wooden crates. But he bypassed them, as they were of no importance to him. His footsteps echoed against the concrete floor as he walked towards the thin staircase in the back of the room, leading to a landing that overlooked the seemingly abandoned storage facility. Deep shadows obscured the far corners of the room, and the faint glow from the grimy windows tinted the entire room with the deep blue of the night sky. The man continued up towards the landing. A metal door, akin to a fire escape, stood out on the end of the platform. Upon close inspection, it was much more polished than the rest of the aged building's installations. It was fortified with a coded lock that must have been recently added, as the bolts were still shiny. The man punched in the four-digit code that he had learned by heart, and pushed the door open. Contrary to the aging doors in front, this one opened with ease and with silence. He stepped inside and began to descend the concrete stairs that led beyond the door as it swung shut behind him, leaving him in near-total darkness. The staircase wound tightly around the building, leading the man farther down underground. He rested one hand on the rail bolted to the wall to guide him. After the second bend, another doorway stood before him, this one wooden. Warm, yellow light spilled from the cracks around its perimeter, and muffled voices could be heard buzzing within. The man pushed the door open without hesitation.

The room was lit from several bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling, hastily wired by an amateur electrician. A crack resounded across the compact room as a pair of wooden chair legs slammed against the concrete floor. The one previously in his seat practically shot up from the table in excitement. Discarded cans, bottles, and notepads littered the long table that took up most of the center of the room, and several empty containers were knocked onto their sides in the wake of this smaller man's eagerness.

"Guys, Jack's here!" he announced.

The curly-haired man sitting adjacent to him shook his head in annoyance. "We can fucking see that, Gavin," he snarled. He sat hunched over the edge of the table, arms folded in front of him, as if to box himself in.

Gavin ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, chuckling and taking his seat again, propping his feet back up on the table and leaning backwards far enough to hit the wall with his chair. Another man, more sharply dressed and carrying an air of authority, stepped towards Jack with a lazy grin on his face. In his hand was a nearly empty bottle of alcohol, its label obscured. The harsh light from the bulbs gave the lines around his eyes a sharper definition, aging him by several years.

"So I see you found the place alright," he said. "How do you like it?" Jack glanced over the room once more. There seemed to be just barely enough room for the dark wood conference room table and chairs to fit in the middle, with little walking space on either side. The front wall was primarily occupied by a dry-erase whiteboard, bringing to mind the image of a classroom. The room would, in fact, resemble a small classroom if not for the maps, mugshots, and news articles tacked to the walls, which held accounts of gruesome and gory incidents throughout Los Santos over the past six months. The back end of the room held a set of cabinets that doubled as a countertop, which two other men were seated at. "I know it's not much right now," continued the dark-haired man in front of Jack as he scratched his jaw absentmindedly, "But it's a start, right?"

"I think it's alright, Geoff," Jack responded. "I mean sure, it's cramped, but you did good finding this place. Can't imagine anyone running across here that easily."

Geoff laughed aloud at that, a short bark. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He sauntered back to the front of the room near the whiteboard. Jack took one of the chairs opposite the pair at the table. "We'll be moving on to bigger and better things before you know it. Alright, now that we're all here, let's, uh, get this meeting started, shall we?" He smoothed the sleeves of his blazer down, and a myriad of tattoos were barely visible beneath the cuffs. "By the way guys, be sure to thank Michael for hooking us up with lights in here."

The fractious man seated next to Gavin pushed his beanie back and gave Geoff a grin. "Yeah, but I bet it'd look a lot better if I had my old equipment. Do you know how hard it is to install this shit with a stepladder and a couple of screwdrivers?"

From behind Michael came a low, flat voice, "Still nicer than my apartment."

The group snickered at that, even Geoff chuckled as he set down his glass bottle. "Looks like Ray's still on a roll," he remarked. 

Ray shifted the black-rimmed glasses on his nose. "You know I bring the comedy."

"Anyway," Geoff continued, "I didn't just call you guys here to admire our new basement, though it is pretty sweet. This'll be our base of operations until we can get a real building." 

"Why can't we just go back to meeting at each others' apartments?" asked Michael. "It was a lot easier then than it is to do all this undercover Bond shit every time we want to have a fucking meeting."

Geoff sighed. "I've already told you, we can't just leave all this evidence in our houses. It's a fucking miracle we didn't get busted earlier with all this heist shit laying around on our kitchen tables."

The man seated next to Ray spoke up. "He's right, you know. This way, the police will only need to make one trip to collect all of the incriminating evidence they need." 

This earned another chorus of laughter from the boys, while Geoff shook his head in resignation. "Ungrateful fucks..." he muttered loudly enough for said fucks to hear. He was beginning to lose his patience already. "Are we gonna have this meeting or what?" he called above the noise. The boys settled themselves again as Geoff turned back towards the board. "Alright," he began, "As you all know, we've mostly been focusing on hitting real small locations, not too profitable. And with our recent... investments, we've set ourselves back a few hundred grand." The group exchanged conspiratorial glances between each other. "So I'm sure you'll be happy to know that I've set us up with a new target, one that'll help recover a good portion of what we've spent."

"And where would that be, Geoff?" asked Michael, with mock curiosity.

"Thank you for asking, Michael," he replied, with the same inflection of sarcasm. "That, gentlemen, would be the bank on Vinewood." Geoff had returned to his professional tone to allow the weight of his statement to settle. He slapped a crumpled list onto the board and secured it with a magnet. "I've spent the last few nights scoping out the place and drawing up a plan, so this is how it'll go down. First off, this isn't a normal robbery for us, we'll have to focus on being stealthy."

The man to Ray's left piped up once again, drawing the attention of the group. "So, I guess meat cleavers aren't an option, then?" 

This brought on another wave of laughter and a "Jesus Christ" prompted from Michael. Geoff rubbed his temple. "No, Ryan," he sighed. "Clean kills, that's all I'm asking."

Ryan chuckled darkly and settled back, nodding at Geoff to continue. "Okay, where was I? Oh, Vinewood Bank. That place is protected as shit, there's no easy way in or out of there-"

"No way in, no way out," Ray interjected, smirking at his own running gag.

Geoff stopped speaking and attempted to throw a glare in Ray's direction, to no avail. "Are you kids done interrupting? Can I continue?" No response. "Alright, as I was saying, there is a way in, but it'll be rough getting there. And that's the easy part." Geoff retrieved a stack of photographs from a folder on the corner of the table, and attached each of them to the board as he went on. "I found a few windows that lead to the balcony on the first floor, so we can use those as a shortcut. There's also a skylight that takes you directly to the second floor, but you'd need a helicopter to reach the roof. I'm hoping everyone'll be able to make it there without incident." As he finished placing the last of the photos on the board, he turned back towards the rest of the group. "The thing is, though, we're not all going in at once." He placed his hands on the end of the table and leaned towards the other men. "Ray, you'll be first in. I don't care how you get yourself up to the second floor, as long as you do it quietly. There's a door here," he grabbed a marker and circled the appropriate door on one of the photos, "... that leads to the vaults. Next to it is a fingerprint-coded lock. You can see where this is going, I'm sure. By the time Ray's at the second floor, I need you two," he gestured towards Michael and Jack, "to start making your way there too. Here's where things get interesting. Ray, you'll have to find a way to get through that door, whatever it takes." Ray raised an eyebrow in interest and nodded. "It's only coded for the guards' prints, so I don't think you can force your way in. Once he's in, Jack and Michael, you run hell to meet him there and start taking shit, get as much money as you can possibly carry. You're all responsible for taking care of extra guards and shit. By then, I'm expecting that some idiot'll trip the alarm, so here's how we make our escape." He tapped the photos of the outside area around the bank. "Ryan and I will get a helicopter and hover by those windows by the balcony here," he drew an arrow pointing to the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the landing in the lobby. 

Gavin suddenly raised his hand, "Wait a minute, Geoff, you didn't say what my job was!"

"I was getting to that." Geoff began tracing circles on parts of the photo depicting the bank's exterior. "You'll be in charge of keeping the cops off our backs when we escape. It's also your job to get our helicopter, there should be one lying around in the airport somewhere." He began to turn away, but whirled back around to face Gavin. "Oh right, I almost forgot! You'll need a car to follow us in when we leave. Think you can remember all that?"

Gavin paused and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, I think I got all that."

"Great," said Geoff, "I guess you're all dismissed for now and-"

"Wait a minute," Ray interrupted, raising a finger in the air. "I got a question. There are supposed to be guards all over the place, right? How the fuck am I supposed to get in the vault in the first place without being seen?"

Geoff pointed to the battered list hanging on the board. "Well, Ray, the good news is that every time I've been there, there's only been one guard hanging out in front of the door, and I don't know anything about the situation inside. But once you open that door, Michael and Jack should be there already to cover you."

"What if somebody dies?" Michael blurted out. "Those guards've got to be armed to the fucking teeth, and if they don't get us, then the cops will!"

"They're not that heavily armed," Geoff reassured him. "The guy I saw the most often last week just had a taser on him. But I can't make any promises about the cops." He paused to rub the back of his neck. "I dunno, just don't fucking get shot?"

Michael huffed bitterly at this and folded his arms back over his chest. There was a stretch of silence. Jack looked about the room at the faces of his teammates. All of them held varying measures of nervousness and grim determination. This was the biggest job they'd ever had since the crew first came together. If they screwed this up, they wouldn't be getting another opportunity like this in months, at the very least. Not to mention the looming probability of their lives being lost through their own failure, despite their precautions. However, if they succeeded, they'd have enough cash to easily pay off the rest of their remaining debts and live comfortably again. That thought alone restored a small portion of Jack's assurance. Looking toward Geoff, he noticed there was a familiar set of resolve in his eyes as he surveyed the crew. His faith in his teammates, founded over years of thievery and bad business, was unbreakable. Any other person would never have trusted this ragtag bunch of criminals to carry out a plan this demanding. Jack, having seen these men in action, held a similarly unwavering conviction. That didn't stop him, however, from feeling a sense of restless unease about this daunting objective. From the looks on the others' faces, they felt the same.

It was Ryan who broke the silence. "Hey, since this is a bank robbery... we'll definitely be needing masks."


	2. Nerve-Wracking

The ride home was quiet, which was a rare opportunity for one in a position as his. Nobody else on the highway was idiotic enough to obstruct Geoff as he casually sped down the highway, tail lights reduced to a blur. Streetlights and traffic signs whipped past him on both sides as he cut every corner he could get away with. The scenery quickly changed from dusty hills to dense, flat, industrial landscapes. The horizon became dominated by buildings rather than mountains, and the bitter smell of the urban neighborhoods permeated the car's windows. Neon signs and street lamps illuminated the dark roads that wove in between tightly packed clusters of buildings and tiny neighborhoods. Littered streets gave way to neat hedges and properly kept lawns. The cars parked in front of each house became progressively shinier and more expensive-looking. At last, Geoff drove through the iron gate of his driveway, meticulously paved and lined with shrubs on either side. He stepped out of his car, noting that he had beaten Gavin home that night. Not surprising, considering that boy's track record with motor vehicles.

Geoff trotted up the short stairway to the front door, flipping through his bulky key ring. He shrugged off his jacket as he stepped inside and headed straight for the kitchen, already in the mood for a drink to ease his nerves. On his way to the refrigerator, however, he found that, resting on the otherwise spotless marble countertop, there was a neatly folded sheet of paper waiting for him. He picked it up to find a message in a familiar hand:

_"Catching my flight today at 5 AM, I'll be home by Thursday."_

_"Love you, Grif"_

Geoff gripped the note, grimacing slightly. He regretted not being able to see her off when she left, though they had exchanged temporary goodbyes the night beforehand. The looming paranoia of some unprecedented risk haunted him every time she left town, whether for business or jobs within the crew, no matter how many times she reassured him that she could handle herself. He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that evening alone, and reached inside the refrigerator for two drinks, rather than one.

Minutes after Geoff had situated himself on the sofa in the living room, the screeching of tires and the racket of careless footsteps could be heard outside. The front door was thrown open, and in strode Gavin, sunglasses hanging lopsided from his shirt collar and hair disarranged. His unkept appearance had become a norm, as he never could get tired of the feeling of wind gusting through his car windows as he rocketed down the street at 90 miles an hour. He unceremoniously dumped his coat and keys on the floor next to the row of shoes by the door and threw a greeting over his shoulder to Geoff, who grunted in reply. A minute later, Gavin ambled into the living room with a plate of salad in hand and claimed the armchair next to the monumental sofa that dominated the room.

"So," Gavin mumbled through a mouthful of lettuce, "You excited for tomorrow?"

"As excited as I'll ever be," Geoff replied, taking another swig of beer. He sat hunched over the edge of the sofa, staring at nothing but a blank space on the opposite wall. The quietude of the house seemed to amplify every sound the two made, the clink of Geoff's bottle against the glass table top felt like it echoed through the halls. The near-silence surrounding the living room was far too heavy. Without realizing it, Geoff had begun tapping a rapid rhythm out with his heel. No matter how he chose to distract himself, his lingering thoughts of all potential worst-case scenarios would not go away. While Geoff was preoccupied with his distress over his wife and crew, Gavin remained unphased, as per usual. Slouching back in his chair, plate balanced on his lap, he finished off his meal without any further comment.

He stood to put away his dishes, with Geoff calling after him, "I'm gonna turn in early tonight." Gavin nodded absentmindedly while Geoff discarded both empty bottles and headed to the stairs, bypassing two hallways of unused guest rooms on the way. There was no clear reason for him to need a house that big, and with so many extra rooms, other than the simple fact that he could afford it. He and his wife had been profiting greatly from their remarkably shady deals with arrogant business agents and lucrative drug lords for years and, as young lovers tend to do, they decided to invest in the grandest piece of property in the area that money could buy. That just so happened to be a wide, sprawling building in the outskirts of Rockford Hills, fit to house at least 8 people comfortably. The place boasted spacious rooms and a fully equipped kitchen, along with a stunningly rich lawn protected by a tall and imposing wrought iron gate.

It wasn't until several years after the couple had established themselves in Los Santos permanently that Gavin had entered the picture. An accomplished thief with a mastery of explosives, looking for work, had stowed himself away on a cargo ship headed to America from England. Roaming from state to state, picking up petty jobs here and there, he had found himself in the Los Santos area. Geoff had found out his whereabouts and proposed a deal to him; either join him and his crew full-time, or find another city to terrorize. The better choice was obvious. The only catch was that the Ramsey couple needed to provide the kid with a place to live until he could get an apartment of his own. Weeks turned to months, until Geoff no longer found any issue with the brit living under his roof, so long as nothing caught fire. The three settled into an unsteady harmony, with Geoff and Gavin taking off on pressing crew business on short notice, while Griffon often flew out of state to settle negotiations or obtain intel.

Upstairs, Geoff had already changed into a set of clothes suitable to sleep in, and crawled onto his side of the bed in his and Griffon's shared bedroom. The mattress had always seemed so much bigger and colder without her to occupy the space next to him. Geoff dragged his hands down his face and forced himself to think only of resting up for tomorrow. His mood had not improved since he had dinner with Gavin, and his stress manifested itself into a painful knot in his stomach. He tossed and turned back and forth, eventually turning the blankets into a wadded mess at the foot of the bed. With a groan of frustration, he finally settled on flipping over to his stomach, chin resting on the pillow. He managed a few calming breaths, until he finally drifted into a light, uneasy rest.

His temporary peace was rudely interrupted by a blaring alarm clock and harsh sunlight piercing through the curtains. Geoff stumbled out of bed in a haze and reflexively grabbed the clock on the bedside table to silence it. He dragged a hand across his weary eyes as he made his way rather gracelessly down the stairs. Raucous activity in the kitchen was a sign that Gavin had already awoken. He had busied himself with preparing breakfast, plates were already being set up on the counter and a billowing cloud of steam had risen to the ceiling, and he looked like he had already dressed for the day. His eyes lit up as soon as he noticed Geoff shuffling towards the kitchen, still wearing an undershirt and sweatpants and looking to be in desperate need of coffee. Gavin practically shoved a mug of it, along with a plate of bacon and toast, in Geoff's direction as soon as he sat down.

"So, Geoff," he chattered excitedly, "It's gonna be a big day today! I already called Pegasus and they're gonna hook me up with a helicopter. Oh! And I got a bunch of texts from Michael and Ray, they were wondering if-"

"Gavin," Geoff groaned, cutting him off. He blindly groped for the handle of the coffee mug next to him. "I just woke up. We're not even leaving 'til eleven, so just chill out."

"But it's nearly ten thirty right now!" Gavin exclaimed. Geoff looked up, startled, and unsure if he heard him correctly. He squinted at the clock on the stove. Sure enough, it read 10:26.

"Aw, shit!" Geoff gulped the rest of his coffee and demolished the plate of breakfast. "Fuck, I can't believe I slept through my alarm! Why didn't you wake me up?"

Not even waiting for an answer, Geoff dashed back upstairs. His shower barely lasted five minutes, and he hardly had time to shave. When he returned to his room, he threw on his day clothes, a respectable-looking suit paired with worn running shoes, and rushed back downstairs again. Gavin shook his keyring impatiently as he waited, with his hand hovering over the doorknob.

"Come on, Geoff!" he shouted. He had already donned his reflective sunglasses. At last, Geoff snatched his cell phone and wallet from the counter and followed Gavin out to their driveway. The two hopped into Geoff's pickup, and Geoff took the wheel as Gavin arranged himself in the passenger seat, fumbling with the seatbelt in his excitement. They took off down the driveway, and they had barely turned onto the main road before Gavin started jabbering away once again.

"Right, so like I was saying before," he began, "Michael and Ray were texting me asking if we needed codenames, or a disguise or something, since this is a pretty big heist, right?" Geoff's eyes remained locked on the road as Gavin rambled on next to him, face lighting up in enthusiasm. "So Ray was saying that we should coordinate our outfits, you know, go with the classic green and black, and I told him that would be top, and Michael said that we should base our code names on old wrestlers or something like that, 'cause it sounds badass and nobody would figure out it was us-"

Geoff's grip on the steering wheel remained tense and he made no indication that he was even listening to Gavin. His state of mind had not improved much from the night before, his heart was still beating double-time at the mere thought of the formidable task ahead of them. For all his showiness and bravado that he displayed in front of the rest of the crew, he really was a nervous wreck when he believed nobody was watching.

He didn't even know if the precautions they had taken beforehand would even work.

Geoff was yanked from his thoughts by an insistent poking at his shoulder. "Geoff, did you even hear me?" Gavin pouted. "You missed the bloody turn!"

He shook his head sharply and pulled the truck into a U-turn, narrowly avoiding a collision with a minivan blaring its horn from the other lane. "Jesus, sorry, I'm really exhausted right now." Geoff attempted to relax his shoulders as he guided the truck more carefully towards the correct exit.

"Did you sleep at all last night? You're practically nodding off at the wheel!" Gavin huffed. "Seriously, you've got to get it together, we all really need your help to pull this off."

"Yeah, you're right," Geoff muttered, still following the winding city roads. "Somebody's gotta keep all your little asses in check."

They arrived at a small, beat-up gas station several blocks away from their target location to find that the others were already waiting for them next to the adjacent convenience store. As Geoff parked the truck, he and Gavin walked out to join the rest of them. Jack and Ryan came out to greet them while Michael sat back on the low concrete wall behind the store and Ray leaned against the building nonchalantly, munching on a bag of chips. Geoff noticed that Ray was the only one to adopt the "crew colors" as he called them, sporting a plain-looking short sleeved army green jacket over a grey t-shirt and black jeans.

"Where's your team spirit?" Ray called out as Geoff and Gavin approached them. "Seriously, I look like an asshole now."

"Aw, shut your trap," Geoff retaliated, "You idiots aren't worth the effort."

Michael hopped down from his perch on the wall to make a grab for Ray's chips, which Ray held just out of arm's reach. As the two shoved each other back and forth, Geoff noted the oddly suspicious-looking canvas bag resting on the ground. "Does this belong to anyone?" he asked.

Ryan picked up the sack. "That would be mine. Told you we'd be needing masks." He held it open for Geoff to peer inside. Sure enough, it held six identical black masks, all adorned with red decals across the foreheads. Geoff chuckled a bit at the sight of them.

"Prepared as always, Ryan," he commented. He turned towards the two still playing tug of war over the bag of chips, laughing and shouting at each other. "Hey assholes," he yelled, "Get over here, we're having a meeting."

Ray yanked the bag back from Michael and they both trotted back over to where the other four were waiting. Geoff straightened the sleeves of his blazer before clearing his throat for attention. He shoved his hands in his pockets so as not to allow anyone to notice their trembling. As soon as he was sure everybody was at attention, he began to speak.

"So, today's the big day, I hope you're all excited." Three whoops could be heard from the back, where Gavin had joined the other lads. "You all remember your jobs, so here's what we'll do now. Gavin'll get the helicopter for me and Ryan, wherever it's parked. By the way, how come you didn't just take one from the airport?"

"I dunno," Gavin shrugged, "I just thought it seemed easier to just buy one and get it out of the way early. It's all on your card anyway."

"You-" Geoff started, "Ah, fuck it, whatever, at least you won't get chased down by the cops before we even rob the place." He swatted his hand in Gavin's general direction before moving on. "While we're doing that, Ray, figure out how you're getting inside. Jack and Michael, once Ray gives you guys the signal, you two go join him up there. By the time you guys get the money, we'll be waiting outside that second floor window to pick you up. Gavin'll keep the cops off of our asses, hopefully, and we'll meet at our usual base. Sound good?"

Everyone nodded in agreement, but as they made a move to leave, Geoff stopped them with a raised hand. "Before you go, don't forget to sync, okay?"

Another grave nod from the rest of the crew members as Geoff turned around to head back to the pickup truck with Gavin. His face contorted in worry as he got back into the vehicle, all of his earlier worries and paranoia rising back up to the surface. For reasons he refused to fully acknowledge, he thought of his wife. Without her, without her absolute grounding confidence and without her solid head on her shoulders, he knew he would never have gotten to his position as leader of one of the most dangerous gangs in Los Santos and, by extension, became acquainted with a group of reckless criminals he considered to be his closest friends. Their accomplishments truly were a joint effort, inspiring their iconic name, the Achievement Hunters. Though, their "achievements" weren't viewed as such by the general public, which was what had prompted Geoff to tag a "fake" on the forefront of their name. The Fake Achievement Hunter crew. 

Not the most elegant of names, but it got the point across.


	3. In Action

The streets hummed with activity, passersby completely unaware of what was to come. A cluster of college students walked down the sidewalk, all smoking and laughing uproariously at an unheard joke. The Vinewood bank loomed overhead, cold and pristine. The massive building dominated the street corner. The sun glared mercilessly from above, throwing harsh shadows across the pavement. No clouds were present to obstruct the heavy heat. Ray leaned against the wall of the bank, obscured by shadow, his hands in his jacket pockets. His right hand rested against his concealed pistol. Having a loaded weapon within reach gave him an odd sense of security, it seemed. The knife sheathed in his jeans pocket didn't hurt, either.

The minute, black speaker in his ear, small enough to pass as a hearing aid, clicked to life. "Hey guys," came Geoff's tinny voice. "We got the helicopter, so Ray, we're ready when you are. Jack and Michael are less than a block away."

Ray reached up to switch on his microphone. "Gotcha," he replied. "I'm heading inside now."

He picked up the mask, courtesy of Ryan, from the ground and made his way around the building to the glass double doors. As soon as he entered, he continued walking towards the staircase at the back of the first floor. Beforehand, he had considered breaking in through the roof or looking for a fire exit to climb through, and as adventurous as that seemed, he often found that the best solutions were the most straightforward ones. Besides, he couldn't use up all of his tricks in one go.

Nobody so much as spared him a second glance. He’d learned the trick of walking with confidence in his step and purpose in his gaze whenever he was about to do something illegal, and when you see somebody walking with that determination in their step, you don't dare to question them. Before he reached the landing, he quickly donned his mask and removed the knife from his pocket, concealing the blade in his sleeve. He scaled the last steps and peered cautiously through the gap in the door somebody had carelessly left hanging ajar. A lone guard was pacing leisurely through the white-tiled room, in front of a windowless, imposing metal door. A fake potted plant was placed in the corner of the room in a half-assed attempt to liven up the space. Probably plastic, useless. There was another door, closer to Ray, this one unprotected, wooden and with a small window revealing an office within. None of his concern. Ray scanned the room one last time, finding nothing to obstruct him from his goal besides that one guard.

He waited for the man to pace again, noting his walking patterns. Ten paces to the left, turn, twelve paces to the right, turn, nine paces, ten again. After the man's second step to the left, Ray seized his opportunity and dashed toward him. He grabbed the man's hair, yanking his head back. "Don't mind me," Ray muttered, whipping out his blade and drawing it swiftly across the man's throat. He choked and gurgled as blood poured from his neck, and fell silent within seconds. Ray released his hold on his hair, and his body crumpled unceremoniously to the floor. He was still bleeding quite heavily, his shirt was soaked and a scarlet pool was forming on the polished tile floor. Ray knelt down and pulled the man's wrist up, drawing out his blade again. He began cutting through the skin around the knuckle of the man's index finger. A new stream of blood ran down the dead man's arm, immediately absorbed by his uniform jacket sleeve. Ray continued cutting and sawing at his finger, and felt himself grimace once he reached the bone.

At last, he separated the finger from the man's hand and rose from the floor. "Hey Jack, Michael, if you guys want to join me up here any time soon, that would be great," Ray mumbled into his microphone.

"On it," Michael answered, his voice slightly crackled. Moments later, Ray heard a muffled _boom_ , followed by shrieking, from the first floor, and sighed to himself. At least those two knew how to make an entrance.

Michael and Jack rushed upstairs to meet him. A thin cloud of smoke followed them as they pushed each other through the doorway. The two of them had already been wearing their masks, and they each carried a canvas sack under their arms and rifles in their hands. Ray almost scoffed, this felt like a scene from an action movie. In fact, their lives had essentially become an action movie long ago, without the on-again off-again romance and discoveries of long-lost twins.

Ray placed the severed, bloodied finger on the scanning pad by the door. The scanner beeped in confirmation and the door clicked as it unlocked. He drew the pistol from his pocket and nudged the door open with his shoulder. Beyond it laid a narrow, black marble hallway, lined on both sides with steel vault doors, and a pair of guards at the very end of it. They started toward the three robbers, but Jack pegged them both off from behind Ray. At that point, whatever commotion had occurred downstairs had settled long enough for somebody to pull the alarm, and a shrill siren pierced the air.

"What the fuck did you guys _do_?" Ray shouted over the noise, covering an ear with his free hand.

"We might have set off a smoke bomb or two on our way in..." Jack answered.

"Or four," Michael added.

Over the miniature speakers, Gavin's high-pitched cackling could be heard. "So that's what I heard!"

Ray shook his head and went to the first vault door. He started to reach for the dead guard's print again, but the vaults were fortified with coded locks, rather than scanners. He cursed under his breath, trying to remember some kind of mathematical trick he had read on the internet that could be used to figure out four-digit codes. He was yanked from his thoughts by Michael's elbow shoving him roughly out of the way. He pulled out a black box from his pocket, an explosive, and hooked it onto the hinged side of the vault door.

"For fuck's sake, Ray," he shouted, "Quit standin' around! We don't have time to unlock it!"

Michael set the bomb's timer and immediately shoved Ray and Jack out of the hallway. The three of them sprinted back to the staircase for safety, and stared expectantly at the vault hall. Two ticks, three ticks, four, five, six. Then a beep. The ground-shattering blast overpowered the screeching siren, and shook the entire building down to its foundation. Black, billowing smoke poured from the open door and a wave of heat hit the three men. Michael started towards the vault, but Jack held him by the back of the collar.

"What are you doing!?" he shouted, "You're gonna suffocate if you go in there! Wait for it to clear out first."

Michael huffed and tapped his foot impatiently. Not a moment later, the three of them heard unintelligible yelling coming from behind them, and a small group of police officers rushed up the stairs. They aimed pistols at the three criminals, barking orders to surrender. Ray casually drew his gun again, silencing each of them one by one.

Another crackling voice spoke up in their ears. "Hey guys, how are you holding up?" asked Ryan. "We're hovering by the bank, you may want to hurry up."

"We're trying!" Michael snapped indignantly. "Gavin, you're supposed to hold off the cops!"

"I'm trying, Michael!" Gavin shouted back, "There's a load of them out here!"

Michael snarled in annoyance, grumbling to himself. Jack tapped his shoulder and gestured toward the vault. Most of the smoke had thinned out, and Michael bolted for it, picking up his bags. Ray and Jack followed him inside. Within the vault were piles upon piles of crisp cash, which Michael eagerly stuffed into a sack. Lining the walls were stacks of locked strongboxes. As Michael and Jack filled their bags, Ray shot experimentally at one of the box's latches. It popped open, and he scoffed at the mountain of change inside it. He instead set to helping the other two cram cash into their bags, twenties and hundreds fluttering around them.

Michael giggled like a child tearing into his Christmas presents as he filled each bag to its brim. Jack patiently secured all of the sacks and hoisted the bundle over his shoulder. "Come on, get moving," he urged Michael. "We don't have much time." The three crossed the hall into the marble-tiled room to the staircase beyond it, past the dead guard's mutilated body. On the other side of the pristine floor-to-ceiling window that towered over the polished staircase was a rumbling, swaying helicopter hovering not less than fifty feet from the ground. The relentless buzz of its propellers nearly drowned out the cacophony of sirens in the street below.

Michael raised the rear end of his gun into the air and brought it down with a terrific _smash_ against the glass. A million shards cascaded down to the street, and sunlight bounced off of each fragment as they fell, glittering radiantly. Ryan carefully nudged the helicopter closer to the building while Geoff kept an eye on the blades. By the time they were close enough, the helicopter's blades were only a mere foot away from grazing the wall. The blades threw furious gusts of wind into the building, tossing loose hair and clothing into disarray. 

Geoff leaned forward, bracing himself on the side of the helicopter's opening. His head was directly over the fifty-foot drop from the relative safety of the helicopter to the chaotic tangle of police cars below. The hem of his jacket flapped in the gale. He spared a glance downwards momentarily and snapped his head back up again. "Do you guys think you can make that jump?" he called across the gap, despite his microphone.

Jack assessed the distance, grimaced, and shook his head. "I dunno, Geoff, I think we should-"

"Don't know 'til you try it," Ray cut him off, discarding his mask. He took half a dozen steps back, giving himself a running start, and launched himself from the floor's edge. He bent forward at the waist mid-air and felt as though he were about to sprain a muscle in his abdomen. His arms were extended in front of him, loaded pistol in one hand and loaded bag of cash in the other. The cars below were reduced to a blur in his peripheral, all of the sirens and honking and screeching of tires and frantic gunshots mingling and blending into incomprehensible background noise as he closed the distance between himself and the helicopter. His feet made contact first, and the rest of him pitched forward into it. He caught himself with his hand and knee to avoid tumbling right out the other side. The helicopter swayed dangerously with the impact. Ray picked himself up and casually tossed the sack of dough to the side.

Geoff, Michael, and Jack simply stared, dumbfounded. Michael was the first to recover, with an astounded exclamation of "Dude!" and then a more energetic "My turn!"

Practically bouncing at his feet, he shoved his money into Jack's arms and prepared with the same running start as Ray. He launched himself at the helicopter, nearly head first, with his arms flailing above him. He caught the edge, holding on by his arms, his feet dangling beneath him. The helicopter tipped again with the added weight, threatening to dump him onto the pavement below. Geoff and Ray each quickly took ahold of Michael's arms and hoisted him up to safety. Jack hung back, nervously judging the distance from the window to the precariously swaying helicopter.

"Geoff," he shouted above the wind, "I don't think I'm gonna make that jump."

Ryan leaned back to turn his head toward the other four. "You're gonna have to make it, Jack, we're really running out of time here." He attempted to steer the helicopter as close to the bank's wall as he could, tensing as a blade scraped across it. Jack took in a breath, set his shoulders, and lobbed each bag of cash toward Geoff one at a time. Ray took each one from him and stashed them in the back alongside his own. Jack began to step back, hesitated, and tossed his rifle into the chopper as well, for good measure. Finally, he backed up and charged toward the ledge. As his foot made contact with the edge of the floor, he flung himself across the gap, with his arms reaching forward. Shots continued to crack below, the wind continued to whip at him in all directions, and Jack caught the edge of the helicopter. He ended up in a similar state to Michael's, his legs were flailing beneath him as he tried to pull himself up. The other three rushed to assist him, trying to pull him up by the arms. The unbalanced weight tipped the helicopter once more, and with its already dangerous proximity to the building, Ryan yanked the controls to steer it away from the wall. The sudden shift nearly dumped the rest of the men out of the chopper, and with one last heave, they pulled Jack up and into the helicopter.

Geoff wiped his brow, relieved, and turned to their pilot. "Fucking Christ, Ryan, you son of a bitch, you nearly killed us!"

Ryan shrugged in exasperation as he swerved the helicopter around to make their escape. "What would you have preferred, plummeting to your deaths or burning in a fiery explosion?"

Geoff stepped back to the side of the chopper to assess the situation below them while Ray joined him. The swarm of cars were all nearly indistinguishable from his altitude. He raised a hand to his ear. "Hey Gavin, buddy, you doing okay down there?"

The lack of immediate response put Ray on edge, but within a moment Gavin's microphone clicked in his ear. "Yeah, Geoff," came a crackling response, "They're all over the damn gaff though, and my back tire's shot. Where are you?"

"We're headed south, try and follow us." Geoff stuck his head out of the side of the chopper again.

Suddenly, a roaring explosion and a burst of flame rose on the street corner near the bank, and Ray's breath caught in his throat. It was immediately released, however, when a scuffed white pickup shot through the cloud of smoke, swaying as Gavin swerved around the lingering police cars scattered across the street. Several of them began pursuing him as he trailed behind the helicopter.

Geoff looked over his shoulder at Ryan, still gripping the edge of the helicopter's open doorway. "Is there any way you can help him shake the cops?"

Ryan shook his head ruefully. "There's too many of them, we'll have to kill everyone first to get somewhere safer."

Geoff sighed and returned to surveying Gavin. He had continued with his previous strategy of swerving erratically in an attempt to disorient the police, to no avail. He pointed a gun out of the driver's side window and seemed to be blindly shooting behind his truck, only managing to slow down one of the cars on his trail. He quickly abandoned that plan and kept driving, with the exposed metal of his rear tire grinding up sparks on the pavement behind him. The police continued to shoot the pickup, with several bullets grazing the doors and the back window already shattered. Through their headsets, the rest of them could hear Gavin's determined grunts and cursing. 

Ray held a cupped hand out to Michael in a wordless request. Michael caught on and dug in his pocket, handing Ray his last remaining grenade. Ray yanked the pin out with his teeth and dropped it, hoping it would end up where the police cars would arrive by the time it hit the ground. Surely enough, it took out at least one of the cars in a blaze of flame, and diverted another off-course.

Despite the assistance, Gavin still struggled to keep pace with the helicopter, his damaged tire hindering him considerably. The shots from the police became more and more accurate, causing even more damage to the pickup's exterior. Ray felt a drop in his stomach as he watched Gavin's truck slowing down, and heard his voice in all of their ears croaking out, "I don't think I'm gonna make it, guys."

Michael grew even more frustrated than before, raising his voice once more. "Come on Gavin, you're not fucking staying behind!"

Gavin shrieked as the remainder of his windows were shattered by gunfire, and noticed the cloud of smoke billowing from the truck's motor. "Really, I'm definitely not gonna make it."

"Then get out!" Michael screamed, "Get another car! There's plenty of 'em!"

"I can't get out if there are people shooting at me all over the damn place!" Gavin retorted. He cursed again as he yanked the pickup in a sharp left turn.

Beside Ray, Geoff had gone pale. Jack had leaned over the passenger seat of the helicopter and was holding a hushed conversation with Ryan. Michael continued shouting into his microphone, even though Ray was fairly certain that Gavin would be able to hear him just as well at a normal volume. "Gavin, all you have to do is- god dammit, listen to me! All you have to do is run for it and hijack another car! You've done this before!"

"You know," Ryan mused, "Theoretically, even if he doesn't quite make it this time, there's still a chance..."

Jack shook his head this time. "Even so, there's no way we can guarantee that, so we shouldn't be banking on that as an alternative-"

"Well, it had better count for something," Ryan snapped, "Considering all the money we paid for it."

"What, so Gavin's going to be the fucking guinea pig for this!?" Jack shouted.

Ray pressed a hand to his own temple. "Jack, relax, let's just see how this plays out."

Jack gritted his teeth and joined the others in surveying the street. Reinforcements had arrived to cut off Gavin's progress several blocks ahead, and he was forced to stop. He pointed his gun out the window once again, hoping to take out as many cops as he could from his unfortunate position. Jack did the same, aiming down at the ground and rendering several police cars completely destroyed. Suddenly, Gavin ceased firing. He placed his gun back in the car and had gone silent. The flow of smoke from the motor of the pickup had intensified. Next to Ray, Geoff's hand began to twitch toward his own weapon, but laid still again. Instead, he spoke, his voice shaking.

"Gavin, why are you stopping?"

Gavin sighed, "I already bloody told you, I'm not gonna make it. I ran out of bullets, my car's wrecked, and-"

Michael tensed again, seething. "Why are you just giving up? This isn't fucking funny, Gavin, get your ass out of there already!"

Ryan had stopped the helicopter, they remained hovering over the crowd of vehicles. The police continued to fire relentlessly at Gavin as the rest of the crew watched helplessly from above. The smoking engine of Gavin's truck began to spit fire. Michael continued urging Gavin to retreat, to fight, to find a way to escape, with only frantic shrieks from Gavin as a response. Finally, as the truck looked to be moments away from wrecking completely, Gavin shouted out of the shattered window with the most intensity the crew had heard from him the entire day.

"See you in hell, bitches!!!"

The pickup truck shook with a tremendous _boom_ and became engulfed in flame. Shards of shrapnel flew out in all directions, the body of the vehicle reduced to a charred, smoking heap. The police lowered their weapons as they surveyed the destruction in front of them. Time seemed to grind to a halt as those hovering above took in the sickening scene before them.

The looks of utter devastation on the crew's faces, Ray would never forget.


	4. The Aftermath

A hailstorm of bullets pummelled Gavin's car as he tore down the street, with little but the black tail of the helicopter above to guide him. Sparks flew around and behind him as metal grazed on metal and metal scraped against asphalt. He shrieked at the shattering of his windows as he wove across the pavement.

He was urged on by the frantic cries of his friends in his ear, and as he noticed the cloud of smoke in front of him grow thicker, his heart leapt up to his throat, only to drop to the pit of his stomach. He'd been in chases like this often before, as Michael had aggressively reminded him, but never before had his every exit been blocked by a hundred police officers out for his blood.

With his proficiency of explosive weapons, Gavin estimated that the blast from the truck would incinerate him instantly, possibly injuring the surrounding cops in the process. Not enough to buy his friends more time. He was quickly running out of ideas as more cars arrived to surround him, sirens blaring.

He brought the truck to a stop, hoping to bait them a little closer. He ducked his head below the window, helplessly shielding himself with his arms. He listened as Geoff and Michael grew more distressed, his only response being a weak, defeated excuse. As the heat from the motor grew hotter and hotter, enough to burn him if he dared to touch the dashboard, a decision clicked in his head. If he really wasn't going to make it, he didn't want to be remembered as yet another nobody who had gone out quietly. Fire rose from the front of the truck as Gavin uncovered his head to throw one last expletive at the police, as well as one last reassurance to the rest of the crew. And like the climactic scene in a cinematic thriller, like the finale to a volatile lightshow, Gavin went up in flames.

When he awoke again, he was greeted by blinding light, a searing pain in his left arm, and disorganized, panic-stricken voices in his ear.

He became aware of being slumped against a wall, and brought himself back to his feet as he squinted against the crisp rays of the setting sun.

His head was pounding and his arm felt as though it were burning. He grasped his shoulder with his free hand as he shuffled down the empty sidewalk.

As the world came back into focus, he was able to distinguish between the voices in his ear. Ray and Michael were engaged in some heated argument, something about planning and trust, and Ryan's voice in the background trying to diffuse the two of them. From the periodic thumps and crackles, it sounded as if someone was being hit. A soft muttering, barely audible over the hectic shouting, seemed to belong to Geoff. 

Gavin continued to plod down the sidewalk, his feet seeming to weigh a hundred pounds each. After several agonizing minutes, another bright, noise-ridden scene came into view. He grimaced against his headache and inched closer. A crowd of police cars, blocked off by tape, all surrounding a smoking heap in the middle of the street. He instinctively ducked into an alley by a dusty, grey barbershop. He slid down, back against the cool stone, obscured by shadow. The pain in his arm had subsided a little, and he ran his hand across the source.

A small, solid chip, embedded in the skin just below his left shoulder. If closely inspected, it would appear to emit a faint blue glow in low light. Surgically implanted not a month beforehand, and costing a small fortune. A device to revive the dead, it was explained to the crew before the procedure. Most influential leaders or politicians had them temporarily installed before overseas business trips, on the chance that they may be unexpectedly assassinated. This back-alley job was more permanent, though cheaper and reduced in quality. They were given a list of possible risks and drawbacks involved with its use: the delayed "respawn" time as a consequence of the non-professional operation, the tendency to be transported several blocks away from one's last synchronized location, and the automatic shut down mechanism of the device on a 24-hourly basis if it was not properly synchronized again. Additionally, there was a pesky complication in that the owner's corpse would cease to exist after revival. Gavin wished that they hadn't neglected to mention the torturous process of respawning, or the fact that a number of his material possessions were missing, including his gun.

He groaned, running his hands down his face. While the searing in his arm had begun to recede, his head still throbbed painfully from the barrage of noise and light. He recalled that a large portion of that noise was coming from his earpiece, and listened in more closely.

"... shouldn't have fucking left him out there by himself!" Michael snapped.

"Well, what the fuck were we supposed to do?" Ray retorted. "Have him come inside the bank with us? He would have been fucked either way, and who else was gonna hold off the cops-"

"Literally any of us could've held off the cops!" Michael screamed back. Gavin winced at his tone. "We shouldn't have even taken this job in the first fuckin' place! We fucking lost Gavin, and all you're doin' over there is running your fuckin' mouth about how we couldn't have done anything about it? Fuck you, Ray!"

"Listen, I'm fuckin' kicking myself over this, too, I know that we could've done something at the time but-"

"Guys," Ryan interjected, "There isn't anything we can do right now except wait, and talking about possibilities and might-have-beens won't accomplish anything-"

"You're still on about the fucking respawn timer!?" Michael rounded on Ryan. "That piece of shit can go suck a dick. It's been four fucking hours and we haven't heard back from Gavin yet, so stop trying to convince me that it's going to work! It was a waste of fucking money. If we had just backed up Gavin better or, fuck, even went out there with him to take down the cops, this shit wouldn't-"

"What did I just say?" Ryan cut in. "Worrying about the past isn't going to change anything. What's done is fucking done, so stop looking for reasons to beat yourself up about this."

Gavin had been feeling a growing sense of dread hearing his team fighting so passionately about his death, if he could even call it that. At the same time, he was immensely relieved that the rest of them made it out alive with the money. After settling his shaky nerves and settling his breathing, he summoned the strength to speak to them.

"Hey, guys?" he croaked. "Hello?"

Nobody responded. Michael continued screaming at Ray and Ryan, Geoff still mumbled to himself too quietly to hear. Perhaps they hadn't heard him?

"Guys?" he tried again, louder this time. Still nothing.

He raised his hand to his earpiece, and found that his mic had been switched off on his revival. Pressing the button, he tried once more. "Hello? Guys?"

All of the chatter from the group immediately silenced. For a moment, Gavin wondered if he had accidentally turned off his speaker altogether, until he heard Michael hesitantly utter, "Gavin?"

"Um, hi Michael. I'm alive, see, so you don't need to worry about-"

"You fucking asshole!" Michael shouted. Gavin cringed again.

"I'm sorry, Michael, I just-"

"Do you have any fucking clue how stressed out we've been?" Michael continued, "Geoff's been a nervous wreck and we all thought we fucking lost you, you little prick! How long have you been back?"

"Wait, it worked?" Ryan marvelled. "Well, shit."

"I dunno," Gavin thought, trying to retrace his steps back to when he first awoke. He found that his memories immediately before death were extremely muddled, which was frustrating at the very least. "A few minutes, I suppose."

"Where did you end up?" asked Ryan.

"Not far from where I died, actually," Gavin remarked. "Guess I just got lucky. Or maybe it's 'cause I came back a ways away from where I originally was, and ended up closer to where I died, like meeting in the middle."

"I'm not even going to try to make sense of that," Jack finally spoke up. "Point is, you're alive, and now we can come get you."

"Yeah," Michael piped up enthusiasticly. "Let's fuckin' go, let's get in the chopper-"

"Um, you might not want to get me where I am now," Gavin interrupted, "There's loads of cops nearby, I'll go somewhere else so you don't get caught."

"What do you mean, there's cops nearby?" Ryan inquired.

"I mean, I came back a couple of blocks away from where I died, and there's a ton of people out there inspecting my truck, or what's left of it, I suppose. There's tape everywhere. I'll go somewhere else so that they won't see you coming."

With one last look toward the crime scene, Gavin took off jogging down the block. Daylight had begun to fade, and after crossing over a roadblock by the nearest intersection, Gavin had effectively blended back into the buzz of evening Californian activity. He made his way to the closest building with a landing pad on its roof, giving directions to the crew along the way and chattering into his mic.

Out of the scattered small-talk, Geoff could be heard chuckling to himself in wonder, "I can't believe that son of a bitch made it."

Gavin took the elevator up several floors, then trotted his way up the stairwell to the roof. Within minutes, the crew's helicopter came into view. Ryan guided it closer to the roof until it was just barely hovering over it. Gavin climbed in, and as they took off again, he received a clap on the back from the remaining four who weren't piloting.

The group lounged in the back of the helicopter and discussed their latest take as Ryan took them back to their secret hideout. Geoff admitted that they hadn't yet counted their cash, but he estimated it to be at least a hundred thousand dollars. Not quite enough to cover their debt, but definitely a start, he had told them. Gavin was well aware that Geoff detested the idea of being indebted to anybody, that he was usually much more organized with his funds than this. Apparently he had been considering investing in their respawn devices in the future, but Ryan had convinced him to splurge on them early on. At least, Gavin thought, they didn't have much longer to go until it was paid off, and whatever happened later on, they could deal with then.

Night had fallen, and the helicopter touched down on the grass. The crew filed into the dusty, rotting warehouse, through the iron door, down the narrow, concrete stairs, and into their tiny meeting room. The lone, bare bulb in the ceiling cast an eery glow around the space, throwing harsh shadows across the walls. The atmosphere that night had some how become both more grim and more invigorating than the night before. Gavin paused to consider the fact that it had, in actuality, only been twenty four hours since he had last been here, and the intensity of all he had experienced since then.

He knew that all that had happened that day was just the tip of the iceberg. His crew was going to be in for a hell of a ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going on vacation soon, and taking a break from writing. Next week's update will be postponed.
> 
> EDIT 11/8/14: Unfortunately, I've lost the inspiration for the plot and the confidence to continue this fic. I apologize, but this fic is officially cancelled.


End file.
